


Indignant

by JokiJoki



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Archfey, Drabble, Dungeons and Dragons, Filthy home-brew characters, Fluff, Help, Honestly theres nothing I can put here, I Made Myself Cry, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, fluffy as fuck, just fluff, pre-death, these made several people cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 15:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16244108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JokiJoki/pseuds/JokiJoki
Summary: Artagan and Narciseros- I liked this one and its longer than 1000 word so i'm gonna post it on its own-Literally only posting because Tony told me that I should post shit that makes me happy as well as commissions and fan-requests and I hate it





	Indignant

Total darkness wasn’t common; street lamps were lit in the dusk-time. The gentle flames’ glow escorting the last few restless travellers to their beds and the last few residents into a blissful slumber.

People staying out past nightfall wasn’t common; the nightlife was dormant as the treacherous mountain the town lay under- only creatures like cats and rats remained to stalk the empty pathways. Yet somewhere, gentle boot taps could be heard, sneaking out of a bedroom window and leaping into action- running down routes that had been chartered in the back of their head for hours now.

Here darkness only lurks in the furthermost corner, where the candlelight resounding from the desk can't seem to grasp. Strands of honey brunet hair remained tucked up behind a not-as-pointy-as-it-could-be ear, wavering in the light breeze that fanned through the open window like a swooping illness that only spread further and further with every second of unstrummed silence. Nose deep in a book, as always, Artagan hadn’t noticed the opening smatter of chords that invaded the airspace around him- providing a sorely treasured distraction.

The jingle soon became coherent and coordinated. An intimate song plucked out on the dulcimer, soon accompanied by singing in a sweet sinuous voice that could be described as an entirely new language; only making comprehensive sense if you read, wrote and spoke it in the most outrageous cursive imaginable. 

Yet it was soothing.

A muted sigh escaped his gently parted lips as two lethargic hands rubbed his eyes and his half-dead legs carried him to the window without his own permission, an act almost ritualistic now.

“Shut up, my guardian is sleeping.” He grumbled, taking another opportunity to rub his eyes. Slinging a neat glare, hardly different from his usual resting bitch-face, down at the harmonic blight.

He grinned like a madman, shocking blond waves crashing down his neck, with a few stray strands cascading over his eyes, one which seemingly glowed a brilliant blue while the other exuded a cool hazel coloured light. Dark orange leather that swooped around his ankles- more like a dress than a jacket- glinted against the white of his shirt and his mostly bare arms which were pin pricked with goosebumps and needle bites which formed great black inking monstrosities in the form of thorny flowers and brambles.

“And shouldn’t you be too?” Narciseros’ fingers over the dulcimer strings halted and in a hasteful movement it was slung to his back “You’re going to work yourself into an early grave-” he started, squinting, attempting to get a better look at the ill-lit facce “, the bags under your eyes are horrific.”

“You’re up just as late as I am-”

“But I sleep through the morning. You wake up before sunrise.” He stepped closer, and closer again until he was perfectly on the wall and could find a suitable foothold-

“Don’t you dare climb up here.”

“I’m climbing up!”

“I’ll shove you off.”

“But then your guardian will hear.” Another case of an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Being face to face with the mad-beaming bard who insists on serenading you, near enough the devil’s hour, really puts things into perspective. Especially when he pulls a small leather-bound book from the pocket of his overly flamboyant jacket and somehow against all laws of anatomy his already ear splitting smile doubles in size.

“You have a choice, promise to go to bed now or I’m going to read my worst poetry to you in hopes you die of boredom.”

“I’d rather work myself to death.” A singular finger prodded at the elbow resting on his window sill.

“You wound me, Arti!” Precarious situation flagrantly put aside, he still lifted his supporting arm away from his perch and clenched it to his chest mimicking a fatal wound. If not for two panicked arms grappling the manic and pulling him back to the window with bone-bruising force, it’s unlikely he would’ve made it to the ground without impaling himself on the sharpened tip of his instrument, or some other equally as tragic ending.

“You’re going to fall if you don’t hold on.”

“I thought you were going to shove me off?”

“Do your parents know that you’re here?”

“Don’t change the subject!” Instead of climbing down- like Artagan wished he would have- he hoisted himself through the window, wary that his coat and equally as over the top dulcimer didn’t get caught on the window frame.

“No. Don’t come in mo-” Unfortunately an immovable object can’t stop a hurricane destroying everything around it. 

The dulcimer, jacket and a pair of black leather boots were tossed aside in tandem, the book Artagan had left open on the desk was shut with a thud and the candle was snuffed out with an ornate looking hood- 

“Come on; Bedtime!” Narisceros chirped- pulling back the definitely-not-meant-for-two-people top sheet and patting the edge of the canvas mattress- 

“You’re sleeping here?”

“Someone has to make sure you actually sleep”

“Fine.” With little resistance he meandered through the dark; to the single-person sized bed that had been prodded into the corner, Narciseros arranged Artagan as best he could into a comfortable position before the latter could argue, eventually flopping on top of him- head resting on Artagan’s chest and toes sliding off of the end of the bed.

“Goodnight Arti…”

“Are you sure yo-”

“Goodnight Arti! Sweet dreams and all that.”

There wasn’t much else to do about it- pinned in the bed and unable to move with another listless soul atop his aching carcas. A hand lifted from his side and planted gently in the bird's nest of blond hair,  “Goodnight Narci...love you...”

Silence. Too late- he’d already drifted to some far off land to fight dragons and sip from a poisoned cup while clenching the body of a lost beloved. A similar haze started to take form around Artagan- lulling his eyes shut and tilting his head back into a pillow like the warm and comforting grip of this so called beloved, whos spilled tears couldn’t wake the dead.

“I love you too Arti-”


End file.
